Twofaced Tales
by TravisBickle
Summary: A look at the world thru the irrepressible eyes of D.A Harvey Dent, or Twoface as you may also know him. The news of a new stage show, CatTales, breaks among the Rogues.
1. The Beginning Tantrums and Tea Parties

OK. For some time now I have played in a message board based Batman role- playing game. It was here that I got introduced to the wonderful 'Cat- Tales' series written by Chris Dee. You can read the series yourself under the comics - Batman section on this site. I strongly recommend that you do, because 1) they are incredible reads and 2) this wont make that much sense without prior knowledge of the Cat-Tales universe. If you like this you will probably like JLAint by MyklarCure - whereas my Fanfic is the CatTales universe through the eyes of master criminal Twoface, his is through the eyes of The Justice League of America. He is a very funny writer, and is also well worth the price of admission. =) As usual with fanfic, I don't own any of these characters and I am not making a profit on them if anyone who doesn't own them happens to be reading. Cat-Tales is used with the kind permission of Chris Dee.  
  
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What is the first thing that comes into your heads when we mention the following word?  
  
Charades.  
  
Now, expand your mental image slightly to encompass a room full of psychopathic criminals. Its not pretty is it.  
  
We sat in a corner of the room, trying our best to make the best of a very bad situation.  
  
All the usual gang was there - Jack, Harley, Eddie, Jervis, Jonathan, Ivy, ourself of course. We had tried to convince Selina to come - of course we had - we spent our life engaged in this hopeless enterprise. On this particular occasion she had muttered something about being busy - which was better than her usual derogatory remarks we supposed.  
  
As usual, with hindsight, we had been inclined to agree with her and wish we had come up with some kind of suitable excuse.  
  
Jack was up next in the game. Producing two ping pong balls from his jacket, he stuffed them into his cheeks, and managed to get a good two seconds into his Godfather parody before collapsing on the floor in a fit of giggles, spitting out the balls as he did so. Harley had joined him in the mirth, and the two had rolled about on Jervis' sky blue matted carpet (for it was Mr Tetch who was our host for the evening) laughing uncontrollably on the floor at their own wit.  
  
The rest of us sighed and looked away.  
  
Jonathan Crane stood up next. He managed to make the symbol for a film, his hands artfully forming the camera and its rolling spool before Eddie piped up.  
  
" 'Scream!' " said Nygma, clapping his hands delightedly.  
  
Crane shook his head smugly.  
  
"Part two!" Eddie said, except it was so quick and so insistent that the words formed a blur. He glared around the room, daring anyone else to either defy him or beat him to this particular punch. We sighed. It didn't take a man of The Riddler's impressively high I.Q to work that one out. It was The Scarecrow for crying out loud! And he had done 'Scream' the last five times we had played, each time subtly changing it to become part 1, 2, or 3! We could just cry sometimes.  
  
Jonathan sat down looking disappointed at the shortness of his turn. Nygma stood up and took his place in front of his captive audience, enjoying the limelight. His movements were theatrical and swift, the overall effect looking like a mix between 'Swan Lake' and a lorry jack-knifing itself across a freeway.  
  
We were seriously considering suggesting to the assembled throng that we play Pictionary, or maybe even Gotham themed 'Clue', ("The Penguin, with the poisioned water supply, in the Batcave!") when we noticed out of the corner of our bad eye that Jervis Tetch was edging slightly uneasily on his ample rump towards the door.  
  
We squinted, but even for our bad eye our vision seemed to be blurred. But then we remembered that we were still wearing the monocle from our, in our humble opinion, hilarious impersonation of The Penguin.  
  
We threw it to the side irritably, where it landed with a tinkling smash, and laid a heavy hand on Jervis' shoulder. He turned with a look in his eyes like a rabbit with a pocket watch caught in the headlights. We shook our head at him, and mouthed something to the effect of "You aren't blowing this Popsicle stand so easily, especially when it's your own house party!" His posterior remained rooted to the floor.  
  
We returned to our corner, passing Harley and Jack who were still laughing. We prayed for their immediate asphyxiation and then rested our head against the cold wall. We sighed theatrically, as only we can.  
  
Sat with our knees up, our arms resting on said knees, and our head tilted to one side, we caught a glimpse of Ivy sitting equally bored on a sofa, idly swilling a half empty flute of champagne.  
  
She caught a glimpse of us looking at her, narrowed her eyes, and slightly poked her tongue out of the front of her mouth at us.  
  
We were aghast. We tried not to show it. We looked away coolly, inspecting the cracks on Tetch's ceiling, reasoning to ourselves that the little flash of pink could well have been our imagination.  
  
It would be just like her though.  
  
A while back she and we had. a thing. Don't you just hate that word? We often curse 'Friends' and shows of its ilk for bringing the word into common usage. Aggravatingly though it describes our relationship perfectly. We dated a couple of times, we watched a couple of sunsets together. we even hired out a Gondola for a romantic cruise through night time Venice.  
  
One of the drawbacks of being a famous villain is that nearly all of your activities become nocturnal. It costs a fortune in carrots, we can assure you. As it happened, we also realised that most Gondoliers would not be too keen on taking the two of us out for a ride.  
  
So we asked Eddie to do it.  
  
OK, OK, that may have been a mistake, but we were blinded by. love we suppose. All we wanted was to make Ivy, or Pamela as her bed fellows are permitted to call her, happy. And he seemed the logical choice.  
  
So madly in love were we that we didn't even question when he appeared wearing a red and white striped vest and black trousers that left very little to the imagination. A straw hat balanced jauntily on his flame red hair, and he had even drawn on a small black moustache in what we were to eventually discover was (much to our amusement) permanent black ink.  
  
His green question mark spotted facemask completed the picture. We must have looked a picture as we sailed down Venice canals, the four of us, us and Ivy cuddling as only lovers in Venice can, and Eddie desperately trying to steer and hum the song of gondoliers. Fortunately there was no-one to see us.  
  
It was on that Gondola that Ivy and we shared our very first kiss - a moment that has been burned into our memory for its sheer perfection. Later, we became lovers in the traditional sense of the word.  
  
We had never been happier.  
  
But the relationship began to sour. We don't know why - or maybe the reasons are too complicated and too long to replicate here. Especially as we are far enough off our original course as it is.  
  
Where were we again? Aah yes.  
  
We looked back at the spiteful wench to see if we had been mistaken. She caught our eyes, her eyes feline in appearance, and she bristled. and stuck her tongue out us more forcefully this time.  
  
We couldn't help ourselves. We stuck our tongue out back at her. Over the other side of the room we saw her bristle even further, and she made an L sign on her forehead and indicated to us.  
  
By this point we were fuming with rage, and despite all of our instincts screaming not do so, we placed our thumb to our nose and waggled our fingers of the same hand high in the air, stuck our tongue out and blew.  
  
With a noise like an elephant relieving itself of constipation, we waggled our fingers even more and continued blowing what English people call a raspberry, and a king size one at that.  
  
We stopped.  
  
The room had gone silent. Everyone was looking at us. Ivy smirked at our embarrassment. Even Jack and Harley had stopped laughing. They looked at the expression of embarrassment on our face though and continued laughing even more.  
  
We shrugged apologetically.  
  
We could have sworn we heard Jonathan muttering, "There's enough material here for a confererence."  
  
Before we could object to being the butt of a joke clearly ripped off from 'Fawlty Towers', there was the sound of the doorbell.  
  
Skipping merrily away from the scene, Tetch grinned like a cheshire cat as he left the room.  
  
Everyone remaining except Joker and Harley was still staring at us.  
  
"What?" we said.  
  
Suddenly, the door of the room burst open and Hugo Strange crashed into the room.  
  
He tripped over the giggling Harley Quinn, who had somehow managed to spread her curvaceous body across the length of the doorway. He stumbled, landing flat on his face in a heap. She found this even more funny, and continued giggling.  
  
Behind Strange, Jervis was shrugging apologetically. An incident occurred a couple of months ago at 'The Rogues' Scrabble Night' (tm), where a full scale fight had almost errupted when Strange claimed that gaylord was a legitimate word (a word that would have won him the game, over the furious Oswald Cobblepot). Ever since then Hugo had been banned from Rogue get- togethers. We must confess we were glad when he was barred. The man has body odour like fetid sweat socks.  
  
In Strange's outstretched hand was a newspaper. Jonathan Crane grabbed it and began reading.  
  
"Catwoman purrs," he read. "They say God writes lousy theatre."  
  
  
  
Out Of Character: That little newspaper cutting appears in its entirety in Chris Dees' 'Girl's Gotta Protect Her Reputation' 


	2. Questions and Answers

We were furious. We were rip both of your lungs out, tear your heart out for good measure, ram offending body parts down your throat furious. And that was if the unscarred side came up. As you might expect, we left The Hatter's under something of a black cloud. I'm told that a silence descended on the gathered rogues after the door had slammed behind me. It was only broken by it's glass panel falling out of its frame and falling on the floor with the inevitable smash. "So then." The Joker is meant to have said. "Who's for Kiss Chase?"  
  
  
  
Eddy caught up with me four days later. We heard the bell of our apartment ring its sad chime, but didn't bother to get out of our arm chair.  
  
Incidentally, that arm chair is a personal favourite of ours. Once, it was a plush red velvet chair, probably owned by some Gotham big wig. But it had fallen into some disrepair, and had been abandoned over at that favourite haunt of ours, Gotham City Dump. Some would argue that the final word of its name might as well be dropped as the city is in such a poor state that the line between city and its dump is becoming indescernible.  
  
We feel that's a little harsh. No we don't. This shit hole of a city [b]is[/b] a dump. We're not sure. We'll flip for it later and tell you then.  
  
Anyway, the arm chair. It was a gift from the illustrious Mr Kittlemeier, who claimed he had been some material left over from one of Hugo Strange's ball gowns. Apparently, he didn't have enough pink polka dotted fur to upholster the entire chair, but only discovered this error once he was half way through the task. The half finished monstrosity reminded him of yours truly, and that's why we have it now.  
  
Quite why Huge Strange would want a pink and polka dot furred ball gown is beyond us.  
  
The mind boggles at the very thought.  
  
Dear oh dear. Two digressions in the first 400 words. Our humble apologies.  
  
We didn't get up to open the door for Edward. We knew it was him because he shouted some inane question about whether it was Dr Jeckyll or Mr Hyde that was at home, and whether or not the good doctor could come out to play. We ignored him, our head throbbing, in the seemingly vain hope that he would take a hint and get lost. We heard the creak of the door opening, and remembered with a grimace that taking a hint simply wasn't Eddie's style.  
  
That and we had leant him a key to look after our pet hamster, Gemini, when we went on a business trip to Metropolis a few months ago.  
  
We closed our eyes. We still heard the gasp though as Edward entered our apartment properly. We opened our good eye, and surveyed the scene with disdain, as if it wasn't us that created the mess. We closed the eye lid again.  
  
Eddie has always been a fairly tidy chap. They say that those of us with intellects as vast as his find mess intolerable and an affront to their intelligence. We can only imagine with glee what he must have thought of the seemingly hundreds of empty beer cans that littered the floor of our apartment. He probably cast his revolted eye on the hideous brown stain that runs up one of our walls. He probably also saw the smashed bottle of Jack Daniels that caused it.  
  
We ourself must have been a sight. We sat in said armchair, eyes closed, a full beard on one side of our ravaged face in a silk dressing gown that was half white and half black with a red flame motif, arms folded with classic negative body language. We hadn't moved from said arm chair, other than to carry out bodily functions and reach for another can. We must have stunk like a dead skunk as well.  
  
Ooh, rhyme.  
  
The King of Filth on his throne, surrounded in his own waste. A sad metaphor for American society, maybe. The object of Edward Nygma's concern - definitely. We could imagine him trying hard not to pinch his nose as he spoke, bravely ignoring the mess all around him.  
  
"It's been four days Harv. Since the thing at Jervis' I mean. I guessed this would be long enough for you to cool down. That and four is 2 squared, which in itself is a 2 symbol."  
  
"Is there a point to this Maths lecture?" we said, sounding as bored and frustrated as we felt, speaking without opening either eye.  
  
"Question. What is wrong Harvey?" Said Edward, sounding slightly perturbed at having his musings on his own intelligence interrupted. There was a trace of something else in his voice though.  
  
Fear.  
  
We smiled slightly.  
  
Good to know we still had it.  
  
"Answer." We replied. "I'll take 'Isn't it fucking obvious' for ten." Riddler said nothing. We continued, the corners of our mouth turning up slightly more, eyes still closed. "You would make a terrible lawyer Eddie. A good lawyer never asks a question that he doesn't already know the answer to."  
  
"Oh come on Harvey! You've been in a foul mood for four days now. OK, so you're normally in a foul mood."  
  
We opened our bad eye and glared at him. He gulped and continued quickly.  
  
"But this is worse than usual. I bet you don't even know where your coin is do you?"  
  
We instinctively felt to where our breast pocket would have been if we had been wearing our suit. The cool kiss of silk against our fingers reminded us that we weren't. We growled softly.  
  
"See! Your a mess Harv! Get off that chair! Kick some ass! Toss some coins, decide some fates!"  
  
We rose quickly, and rushed at him, snarling like a Rottweiler. We stood literally nose to nose, staring into each others eyes, we reading the determined fear in his, he reading the menace in ours.  
  
"But whatever you do, please tell me what's wrong Twoface." He said softly.  
  
The tone of his voice - quiet but authoritative - struck a chord, even in our addled mind. Feeling like a dog with its tail between its legs, we retreated back to our arm chair. We sat sheepishly for a second, staring blankly into thin air, before falling backwards into the chair, and theatrically placing a hand across our troubled brow.  
  
What can we say? We're a frustrated actor. We'd happily play ourselves in our life story, when it is inevitably made in to the next Hollywood blockbuster. We might even let someone like Tommy Lee Jones do it - he could probably give the part justice. Not like that jerk-off who actually got given the part. How heartbroken we were when we heard of the tragic accident that befell him. Not.  
  
Real acid eh? That will leave a mark.  
  
Eddie of course is a frustrated Sigmund Freud, so he pulled up the chair from the table and sat ready to listen attentively. He placed a hand on his chin, and stroked it thoughtfully, before repeating his earlier question.  
  
"Its like this Eddie." We said. We paused. Trying to find the words. And prevent the wrong ones from coming up in an angry fusilade. We failed naturally. "How DARE she?!" we shouted. A look of confusion passed over Eddie's face.  
  
"You've lost me Harv."  
  
"Selina! How DARE she? How dare she make light of the divide between herself and Batman?! How dare she try and blur the line between vigilante and villain. Black and white. That's all we need in this world. We dont need people like her setting up camp in the grey!"  
  
Eddie tried to say something, but we carried on unabated.  
  
"Doesn't it make you angry at all? OK, so you don't see the world in the same way that we do, which is incidentally your loss, but doesn't it make you angry that she mocks us and everything we do in a STAGE SHOW NO LESS?"  
  
Riddler tried to interject again but we cut him off. We will gloss over the next part of our monologue. Sufficed to say, in our fever we did lose ourselves slightly. Eddie has since told us we ended up shouting out how it was people like Selina that lost us World War II, that The Little Mermaid II wasn't a patch on the original, and that Garfield the cat should run for President in the year 2222. We're sure he's lying.  
  
Anyway, eventually, he managed to calm us down. He stood up, very battered and bruised, but triumphant. We moaned and growled menacingly.  
  
It's a bit difficult to do anything else when your mouth is covered in, and your limbs are held down by duct tap. Eddie waggled the roll of tape in front of our furious eyes, and tutted at us as if we were a naughty school boy.  
  
"Now," He said pulling something out of his green question marked jacket with aplomb, "What begins and ends with the same letter and will solve all your problems?"  
  
"Riddler, or more accurately ripping his head off unless he gets this stupid tape off us!" we shouted at him. Of course, through the tape, our words lost a lot of their impact. We might as well have been complementing him on his socks for all the sense we were making through the tape. We think the force of our anger startled him though, and he moved backwards slightly.  
  
"Wrong." he said uncertainly, beaming none the less though, enjoying being the Quiz Show host of this little game. He waved a small piece of paper in front of us, allowing us to read the exquisite lettering.  
  
It was a Theatre Ticket.  
  
For Cat-Tales - a one woman show starring Gotham's most glamorous Cat burglar.  
  
Catwoman.  
  
Selina.  
  
Eddie beamed at us. "Not such a bad lawyer now eh Harv?" he said, his smile growing larger, if that was at all possible. Maybe he smugly grins at his victims until they commit suicide. We were certainly pretty close.  
  
"The prosecution rests." Edward said, simply.  
  
  
  
We really hate him sometimes. 


	3. Tears for a Clown

We are not quite sure how Eddie managed to wangle his way out of accompanying us to the Theatre that night, but suffice it to say he did.  
  
The problem is that The Riddler is an intelligent being, as he loves to remind us - we have never heard anyone so skilled at arguing their way out of a situation. Other than maybe Selina, of course but she's got her stunning looks to help her on that front as well. Ours, although arguably equally dynamic, aren't really going to bowl people over in the same way hers do.  
  
We might be painting a slightly cruel picture of Eddie here. We make him sound like an argumentative ego maniac obsessed with his own intelligence. That's hardly fair.  
  
He's not that argumentative.  
  
No, we seriously aren't being fair. Eddie is a wonderful person. He's a friend of ours, and on the path we have chosen to follow that in itself is an achievement. Only Selina can claim to know us better. He also has a wicked, and yet largely uncredited, sense of humour. Many's the time that he had us rocking with laughter with his stand up routine. He also has a lovely singing voice - his Ricky Martin has to be seen to be believed.  
  
Where were we? Aah yes. Riddler wasn't coming anymore. In conclusion therefore, we were feeling slightly miffed and a little put out when we heard a knock at the door of our apartment.  
  
"Who is it?" we asked gruffly, almost making it sound more like a challenge than a question.  
  
"Joe." Came the response. We cursed and yanked the door open violently. The Joker stood framed in the doorway. His face was not its usual picture of inanity and mirth however - his blood red lips were turned down at the corners, and his yellow vein filled eyes were wide and puppy dog like. As close to puppy dog eyes as a psychotic clown with a list of fatalities that could make Genghis Khan blush can be anyway.  
  
"Why diddya answer the door Harv? Haven't either of you seen a knock - knock joke before? It's a fairly simple concept really - which is helpful seeing as your both fairly simple too."  
  
"We know what a knock - knock joke is Jack," we said dryly. He grimaced slightly at the mention of his name - we had learnt that he hated being called that from Selina - always useful to know. "You knock on the door, we ask who it is, you reply Joe, we say Joe who, you say Joe Kerr and kick the door so hard that it goes flying open, normally smacking us in the nose as it does so!"  
  
He grinned at us as only he can.  
  
"So you've heard it then?" he said in mock surprise. He laughed, slapping us on the shoulder, before waltzing past us into our apartment.  
  
"No please, do come in." we remarked to ourselves as we followed him in. He leaped onto our arm chair, putting his feet up on the coffee table, his purple trousers riding up to reveal white ankle and Tellytubby socks.  
  
"Thanks Harv. Awfully kind of you old chap. Tally ho, hockey sticks and all that."  
  
"What do you want Joker?" we said folding our arms.  
  
Like a jack in the box, he jumped up from the chair, and reached out a hand to shake ours, grinning broadly. Our arms remained folded, and our eyes narrowed at the white hand. Giggling apologetically, he removed the small button like joy buzzer from his hand.  
  
"What's with the questions? Eddie, is that you in there beneath that hideous excuse for a face? Talk about a face only a mother could love. but even she might struggle with that one! HAHAHAHA!"  
  
"So you came round here to insult us then did you Jack? Couldn't you do that another time? We're kind of busy at the moment."  
  
We regretted it the instant we said it. His eyes widened, and an evil grin passed across his face.  
  
"What are you up to Harv? And where do I sign up?"  
  
"Oh it's nothing. You'd hate it." We said, turning away from him to conceal the theatre ticket we held in our hand. He grabbed us by the shoulders and hopped up and down, peering over our shoulder, giggling inanely. The whole effect was like Tigger on Prozac.  
  
"Cat Tales huh." he said thoughtfully. We cursed ourselves for not concealing the ticket better. If Jack were to show up at the performance, we hated to imagine what Selina would do to us. We knew it would involve her claws and us saying goodbye to some part of our anatomy.  
  
"Huh? What - this? Oh no, Jervis Tetch asked us to buy this for him. We owed him a couple of favours you see. No, tonight we're going downtown to. 'check out' that new exhibit at Gotham museum. Some archaeologist has discovered an Egyptian statue that seems to depict twin Gods. It has thrown the accepted knowledge of Egyptian society into doubt - and more importantly we have a space on our mantelpiece that needs filling."  
  
We turned around to look at The Joker. He was playing with one of those table tennis bats that has the ball attached to it with elastic. His tongue was sticking out of one corner of his mouth, and his brow was furrowed, seemingly in great concentration as he furiously bounced the ball.  
  
We sighed. He turned to us, his bat forgotten, and grinned sheepishly.  
  
"I agree Harv, you should get a new hair cut. Your current one does nothing for your complexion." he said, examining our scarred face with a smirk.  
  
"You haven't listened to a word we've said have you?!"  
  
"What was your first clue? HAHAHAHAHAHA!"  
  
*****************************************************************  
  
We argued for a good five minutes before we gave in and agreed to let him go with us. It's difficult arguing with someone who is insane - there comes a point when you realise that their arguments aren't making sense, you both know it, and only one of you cares. In the end, he won by default. In other words, we were about to burst a vein in frustration.  
  
We trudged in the direction of The Hijinx Theatre together, looking just like the proverbial odd couple. He was dressed in his usual purple suit, bright blue tie, yellow shirt. His skin was bone white, his hair emerald green, his lips blood red. We on the other hand were dressed in a long dark brown trench coat with a large collar that we held up, jealously trying to protect our identity from prying eyes. We also wore a wide brimmed brown leather hat.  
  
We looked at each other as we walked. We were wryly thinking that all of our years at law school had resulted in this, whatever this was, when Jack spoke, a note of mischief in his voice.  
  
"Kinda strange aren't we Harv? You and I. Coco the Clown meets Indiana Jones. Imagine the buddy movie if those two got together! Baggsy Gene Wilder playing me. But then again, you're a walking Buddy movie, aren't ya Harv?"  
  
We snarled.  
  
"Shut up Jack. Why the hell are you coming with us anyway? You hate the theatre. You don't even like Selina that much."  
  
"True. I do love to laugh though. And if something tickles me." he collapsed into fits of giggles. We lifted him up back off the floor and slapped him. "Thanks Harv. I needed that. In response to your question, I don't care about the show itself. I'm here for you buddy. When the proverbial hits the fan, we're the most qualified Umbrella you know. Don't even try and deny it. Chaos is our middle name."  
  
"Charlie Chaos Chaplin? Nice." "Pretty funny Harv. For an amateur. So why are you going tonight then?"  
  
We smiled malevolently.  
  
" 'The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.' Or in this case, the Cat. William Shakespeare's Hamlet, Act 2 Scene 2, with an additional satirical note by Harvey Dent."  
  
"Hamlet?" said the Joker, looking puzzled. "Harv, have you been talking to your cigars again? Maybe you should check yourself into the funny farm. Again."  
  
We sighed exasperated. As we did so a thought struck us.  
  
"Hey - aren't you at all worried about being recognised? Look at us - incognito. You are a wanted criminal you know!"  
  
"Heh." He said, grinning at us fiendishly. "Being recognised? I'm not worried about it Harv. Not in the least. I'm armed with a trusty tube of Pringles and I'm not afraid to use it."  
  
"Pringles?!"  
  
"Yeah. I got some Pop Tarts too, but I only intend to use them when I'm really desperate."  
  
"What?" we said, confused. OK, so he's clinically insane, but even for him that was a strange thing to say. The place we were going would surely be crawling with cops.  
  
"You'll see." He said, still grinning. "Surprises are cool Harv! You must have been terrible at Christmas. Always wanting to open your presents before the allotted time. Happy memories eh?" he said, noting the clouded expression in our eye.  
  
We were thinking back to the last Christmas we had spent at home before we left for Law School. Our Father had got drunk again, and tried to beat us. For the first time, we had stood up to him. We had hit him back. He had fallen, almost in shock, backwards, knocking over our tree and landing with a crunch on the presents that lay under it. We stared at each other for a good few seconds as the realisation dawned. He was a small, weak old man. He had never been a father to me. Not since Mother died. We had run from the house and not seen him again until after Law School.  
  
We realised that Jack was looking at us oddly, so we grinned feebly at him.  
  
"Hey Jack," we said. "Two guys walk into a bar."  
  
"Ouch." He said.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
To be concluded 


	4. Method in the Madness and Madness in the...

A couple of problems presented themselves to us that night as we came closer to The Hijinx Playhouse.  
  
One. We had Jack with us. He was a big enough handful when we organised that Rogue's outing to go and see Rush Hour 2. Laughing incessantly, hissing the bad guy at the top of his lungs, and occasionally launching Jackie Chan style kung fu kicks into an ever so slightly put out Ventriloquist. We hated to imagine what mischief he would manage to get up to in a theatre, the pinnacle of respectability, and somewhere that we were pretty sure had not been Joker proofed.  
  
Two. We had Jack with us. And he hadn't even had the decency to come in disguise. We had come incogni-two. From what we had heard, Batman and his spandex loving colleagues featured pretty heavily in Selina's act. By our calculations that meant he was bound to show up at some point - if only to stop her from turning their. . . relationship if you can call it that into a joke.  
  
It's unlikely, we thought, that he would find the show at all amusing. We wonder sometimes whether he is physically capable of smiling. He was probably born without those particular muscles. God knows he seems to have an over abundance in his arms - maybe he is trying to over compensate?  
  
Jack and Batman aren't exactly on each others Christmas card lists, so the very real possibility of us running into him worried us, even if it didn't worry him. He claimed he had something up his sleeve, and knowing him we concluded that was most likely deadly and most definitely not good.  
  
We stopped outside the doors that lead to the theatre foyer. To our horror, we saw a huge number of people milling about inside. Every variety of person was inside - it appeared Selina's appeal was pretty universal. The cynical side of us chipped in at this point, pointing out to us that the men were here because they wanted her and the women were here because they wanted to be her. We also realised with a slight shudder of distaste that Cat-Tails was THE thing at the moment in Gotham's fashion conscious circles- if you wanted to be seen then this is where you went. Which hardly allayed our fears.  
  
We pulled Jack over to one side. He grabbed at the sides of his purple trench coat, presumably trying to conceal something from us. We didn't register it at the time however - we were too busy stuffing his ticket into his hand and giving him one final lecture about behaving himself. He grinned at us, and boldly walked into the theatre. We shook our head in resignation and followed.  
  
We walked a few paces behind him, presumably looking almost as noticeable in our long coat and wide hat as he did, but at least people shouldn't notice who we really are we reasoned. The first few people to notice Jack, to our amazement, nodded politely to him. Some smiled appreciatively. Others nodded to him respectfully. He gave each of them delicate waves like he was the Queen of fricking England. We were seriously beginning to wonder if he had managed to put something in the air vents, when two beautiful young women then boldly walked up to him, and began openly flirting with him. We nearly broke our toe as our jaw dropped to the floor.  
  
We walked up to him, and began listening to his conversation.  
  
"Well, yes Ruth, I always have been a fan of The Joker, ever since the early days and that laughing fish incident. I laughed so hard when I found out about that my sides split and I had to go for a run to get a stitch before I spilled vital organs all over the carpet. Did you know that all of his material is totally original? You wouldn't put a coin in your mouth would you, because you don't know where its been. Well, he views humour with the same principal and never uses a joke that's been used before."  
  
The woman he had been speaking to, presumably called Ruth although you never could tell with Jack, nodded in happy wonder. She motioned her friend closer, and began whispering into her ear behind her hand, both of them occasionally glancing at Jack seductively, giggling. Her friend then spoke up, allure in her eyes.  
  
"That's a great costume by the way. My friend and I were just wondering whether your skin was that pale. . ." her eyes drifted downwards, "all over."  
  
"Well," said Jack, beaming wide. Our head was swimming. We couldn't actually believe our ears. Jack was a wanted criminal, a callous mass murderer, and an escaped convict. And here he was chatting up two young women who thought he was in costume?!  
  
Jack was obviously not as mad as he appeared we thought ruefully. He must have realised that it would be human nature to assume that he was a man in a costume, perhaps even a Cat-Tails publicity stunt.  
  
And then the realisation hit us.  
  
The kind of person who would come and see this show obviously. . . likes (for want of a better word - perhaps you could argue they have an over romanticised view of? Some BS like that) the costumed villains, despite the terrible things we have done to this city over the years. These two women probably enjoyed The Joker's jokes, probably even found him attractive in some kind of sick way. Never under estimate the screwed morals of an admirer, we thought with a shudder.  
  
"And this," said Jack, grinning madly at us, making our stomach churn like a washing machine, "Is our good friend Harv. Take a bow Harv."  
  
He punched us in the stomach. We bent forward instinctively (as if we were bowing, as he said) as his fist impacted and we groaned. The violent motion caused our hat to fly off, revealing our faces.  
  
As we scrabbled to retrieve the hat, we heard a gasp. We looked up, startled, panicking. We needn't have. The two women were now staring at us with doe eyes, smiling.  
  
Surely not we thought. Surely fricking not.  
  
"Wow! You came in costume too!" one of them said. "You came as. what's his name. . . Two tone? Tutu?"  
  
"I'm sure it's got a two in it. . . " said the other one.  
  
We snarled.  
  
"Our name. . . uh, his name, is Twoface!"  
  
Recollection flashed across their faces.  
  
"That's it!" one of them said, smiling at us. We glowered beneath our hat. Jack slapped us on the back, laughing heartily. We turned to him, and fixed him with a look of the purest hatred. Naturally it made him laugh even more.  
  
"I'm off now you four. I always get the munchies at times like this. Look after my friend Harv ladies. He's a little shy. Toodles."  
  
He wandered off towards the refreshment booth, whistling a jaunty tune. We glared daggers at his back.  
  
"So then. Harv," said Ruth, as Jack had called her, "Tell us a bit about yourself."  
  
We sighed, still not sure if these two were for real.  
  
"Well, I used to be an attorney ten or so years ago. But then I had something of a break down at work, and I left that job in favour of something. . . different. Now I'm into psychology, the study of duality in particular. Now, if you'll excuse me ladies, I must go and catch up with my friend. Nice talking to you!"  
  
We smiled at each other. As soon as I had left them, the scowl returned to my face. Jack was causing havoc again. Apparently he had got into a debate with someone whilst standing in line for Pop Corn. We wouldn't have thought you'd get Pop Corn at a place like this usually, but they seemed to be trying to appeal the unwashed masses as well as the art lovers.  
  
"Well I think this whole Joker thing is in bad taste. I know who this Selina Kyle woman is meant to be, and I know that the real Catwoman is meant to be pregnant with The Joker's baby or something, but even so. . . the man has killed hundreds of people and I'm not sure fan boys like you should be encouraging that."  
  
Jack looked at the man incredulously.  
  
"What? What? Are you mad? Are you stark staring bonkers? Are you out of your tree?" The Joker said disbelief in his voice. He paused theatrically.  
  
"You think I. . . uh, he's ONLY killed a couple of hundred people? THOUSANDS is more like it. You could use the tombstones as pebbles to cover the entire coast of Brobdingnag - which by the way is where the giants hang out in 'Gulliver's Travels', in case you didn't know. Oh my God - What's that?!" Said Jack, pointing at the man's chest. As the man looked down anxiously, Jack brought his finger up, lightly tapping him on the nose. "Gotcha! HAHAHAHAHAHA!" He said. He winked at the now furious man, snatched his Pop Corn from the anxious looking boy behind the counter, and walked over to us.  
  
"Heya Tutu." He said, clapping us cheerfully on the back.  
  
"Call us that again, and we rip your head off!" We snarled quietly.  
  
"Sure thing Harv. But maybe you should consider switching to decaff."  
  
Jack shrugged, and skipped over to the usher. We clenched our fists, and reluctantly followed. 


	5. Carseat Lament

We took our seats, Jack making a point of spilling some of his popcorn over the array of bald heads and immaculately coifed hair dos in front of us. Many of them looked around and glared or tutted. Jack stuck his tongue out at each of them in turn. One of the older more pompous looking men, who we could have sworn was George Burns if we didn't know better, was incensed.  
  
He turned around; his face an interesting shade of crimson with a vein sticking a good two inches out of his forehead, and launched into a tirade.  
  
"Young people today should be more careful! I did not fight in Nam just so that young people like you could spill your. . ." he stammered in anger, trying to find the right words, "POPCORN all over us war veterans! Have a little respect will you for other theatregoers! What do you have to say to for yourself?"  
  
Up until this point, he had been looking at us (we had been careful to turn so that the Dent side of our face was facing him), but then a hint of confusion crossed his proud features as he noticed we didn't actually have any Popcorn. We gestured with our good hand to the man sitting next to us. The man turned to look at the real target of his anger. The Joker smiled sweetly and waved delicately with one hand.  
  
"As it happens sir," said Jack, still smiling sweetly, "due to an unfortunate genetic inheritance, that also accounts for my emerald green hair, my hands sometimes shake uncontrollably." He spilled even more Popcorn over the unfortunate Theatregoer to prove his point with an obviously contrived shake. "As you can see, sir," said Jack, his hands still shaking uncontrollably, spilling more and more, "It's quite a nasty case, one that I'm fairly sensitive about, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't make callous and frankly offensive remarks about it!"  
  
A hint of recollection mingled with absolute terror flashed through his victim's eyes. The man laughed nervously, and turned around again to face the stage, crunching loudly due to all of the Popcorn that he now sat in.  
  
Jack's eyes narrowed and his eyebrows sloped downwards, a small flame dancing in each eye. His mouth thinned and formed a snarl, baring his yellow teeth.  
  
"Excuse me." He said, to the retreating head. "But why do you laugh at me? Do I amuse you? Do you find me amusing? Am I some sort of fucking CLOWN to you or something?"  
  
The deranged clown stood up, throwing his arms wide; his face turned to the skies.  
  
"Why does nobody take me seriously?!" he asked, imploringly.  
  
"For fuck's sake Jack sit down!" we said, hurriedly yanking him by the shoulder and pushing his back into his seat, wishing the coin had come up differently on the issue of whether or not to bring a seat belt to strap Jack down with.  
  
They were pretty good seats actually - Eddie must have pulled a few strings in the box office on our behalf. We were dead centre in the back row. Normally, this would have been a bad thing, as we wouldn't have been able to hear Selina very well, but the theatre was small and intimate. Packed to the rafters as well, we thought, staring around cautiously.  
  
Suddenly, we gasped and ducked back down into our seat.  
  
Jack looked around in mock confusion, before peering down at us as we tried desperately to disappear into the fold at the back of the chair. We glared at him, and yanked him towards us by the tie. He yelped.  
  
"Shush!" we said. "Now listen carefully Jack. We think we saw that Plastic Man freak over in the standing section. We have to get the hell outta here. We knew coming here was a bad idea. We can't believe we let the coin talk us into this. . . "  
  
Jack of course had stood up to his full height and was craning his neck to try and get a better view.  
  
"Really? Stretch Armstrong is here? Cool! Hey look! Isn't that Commissar Gordon?"  
  
We followed his outstretched finger with our eyes. Our old friend Jim Gordon sat in the front row, scratching at his neck under his loose fitting tuxedo, looking equally as uncomfortable as we felt.  
  
It struck us at this point that Selina was crossing one hell of a line here. Her performance wasn't solely for the benefit of the supposed good guys, or the so-called bad guys. She was walking a line here, a tight rope if you will. She had one high-heeled boot firmly planted on both sides of the fence.  
  
We hope the fence of our analogy is a low one.  
  
Our anger was renewed. She was playing a dangerous game here. Interacting with, or at the very least presenting herself as a member of, both sides in the eternal struggle could have dire consequences for both parties. There was a certain amount of brazen cheek in her actions - that was forgivable, brazen cheek being something of a calling card for Selina. The seeming betrayal hurt though. The hypocrisy in our thinking throbbed dully in the back of our mind (we ourselves being perfect examples of someone who has a foot, or in our case an eye, in either camp), but in our angered state we managed to ignore it long enough to not throw the coin. Into Jack's face.  
  
Jack was feeling around in his breast pocket, sticking his tongue out in concentration, before a triumphant grin passed across his face. He grinned at us as only he can, revealing what he had in his hand.  
  
A straw. He showed us his other hand, the grin growing more and more fiendish.  
  
Small balls of paper. He shoved a ball into his mouth and placed the straw to his lips.  
  
"Bzzz. Houston this is delta bravo, target had been acquired." He said, looking down at the oblivious Gordon. "Bzzz... Roger that delta bravo, release spit balls when ready bzzz.. Roger that Houston, over and out."  
  
We snatched the straw from him and hissed at him to sit down. We also made some fleeting comment about not being able to take him anywhere. He scowled.  
  
"You'd better give us the sling shot while you're at it Jack."  
  
The scowl deepened, but the weapon was handed over without fuss.  
  
We settled back into our seat next to the pouting clown as a hush descended over the audience as the lights dimmed.  
  
"Mr Dent really! I hardly know you!" said a high pitched voice next to us as all went dark. "What?" we said. "Oh for fuck's sake Jack - just be quiet!" He placed a finger to his pursed lips and indicated the stage to me, on which the gorgeous Selina Kyle had just appeared. We sighed and considered throttling him. We also noticed that he was still wearing that purple trench coat despite the heat. All thoughts of that nature were forgotten however as Selina's voice filled the theatre and the show began in earnest. 


	6. Two Thumbs Up

OOC: In the unlikely event he's reading this, thanks to Matt Tilling for the octopus joke.  
  
  
  
Cat-Tails was a triumph.  
  
We admit this begrudgingly it has to be said. We were still annoyed at Selina for exposing our world for the mainstream's examination. We still felt betrayed.  
  
The audience seemed suitably entertained anyway, much to our initial annoyance. Polite laughter soon gave way to a cacophony of slightly impolite guffaws, until slowly but surely the entire theatre hall was rocking with mirth at Selina's innumerable anecdotes, impressions and stories of adventure and romance.  
  
We say Selina's stories were every good - lets not get confused here - the woman on the stage was most definitely Catwoman, and was openly flaunting this fact. The twinkle in her eye, the way she carried herself, even her very posture - this was Selina in Catwoman mode alright.  
  
(Maybe that explains why Gordon walked out in a Commissioner sized huff at the interval. Perhaps the policeman in him simply couldn't take beig in the same theatre as someone he should really be trying to bust. Or maybe it was Selina saying to him, "I didn't shoot you did I Jim?", waiting for him to answer and then pointing out it was a rhetorical question, much to everyone's cruel amusement. We can't be sure. We do know that the poor sap will never sit in the front row again though.)  
  
Watching the show, we suddenly felt very annoyed. It struck us suddenly that we were not the only being in Gotham with two personalities living in the same fleshy capsule. Selina herself, it could be argued, especially by us who knew her better than most, had two distinct personas. It was just that one of hers wore a skin-tight purple costume and the other didn't. Even Batman presumably has another identity when he's not in the costume although we do doubt that with increasing frequency.  
  
(A note on Bat's aforementioned costume - Jack's right you know. Someday he WILL trip over that cape. Don't tell Selina this but the rest of us actually have a pool going - when he trips over it, whoever he happens to be attempting to bust at the time scoops the jackpot. Our money's on Ra's Al Ghul. As is his strangely.)  
  
The only thing that separated these personas was a costume. Certainly in the minds of others, and possibly even in the minds of the afflicted. Something had gone wrong with our costume, which had resulted in our rushing onto the stage only half clothed, but other than that we were no different to any of them. And yet we get such a bad press for it!  
  
We sulkily began flipping the coin as the interval began. We didn't even bother to cower as Gordon stormed past.  
  
We sprang up from our seat as Sherlock Holmes might from his armchair. Jack seemed startled by our sudden movement - so much so that he stopped demonstrating to the complaining (and now terrified) man in front how to make a balloon animal giraffe, and stared at us.  
  
"Look Tutu, if you have haemorrhoids, I know this great little all night pharmacist on the corner of Woodstock and Vine."  
  
"Shut up Jack. We're going to go and get plastered. Behave yourself until we get back and we'll give you a Lolly Pop."  
  
"What flavour?"  
  
"Strawberry." We lied. It was a lime one that had been collecting fluff in our jacket pocket since Harley's birthday party.  
  
"Cool!" said Jack. "TTFN!" He waved at us enthusiastically before turning to the now vacant seat in front of us. His captive audience was attempting to make a swift get away. Jack grabbed him by the shoulder, yanking him back into his seat, laughing heartily. He didn't seem to notice how pale the man was looking suddenly.  
  
We turned to go back and do the responsible thing, but the urge for alcohol was strong, especially after the day we had had. Our throat felt dry and parched. It groaned at us. But we also felt we should be making sure Jack didn't get into any more trouble. . . ironically there was only one reasonable solution.  
  
The coin landed squarely in the centre of our palm. We looked down.  
  
Jack's a big boy, we reasoned. He can look after himself. And he did promise not to kill anyone tonight. . . and far more importantly we wanted to get drunk.  
  
  
  
  
  
We returned to our seat, slightly unsteadily, as the interval ended. We brushed off the pile of balloon animals that had suddenly materialised on it, and tried to get Jack's attention. He had his arm round his unfortunate victim's shoulder in a gesture that should have been friendly, but coming from him even we found a little menacing. He was in the midst of a joke when we came over.  
  
"And so the guy who brought the octopus into the bar says to the Bartender, 'I bet you a drink that this octopus can play that Piano.' The Bartender of course isn't too impressed, and says 'Yeah sure, I'll give you a free drink if that octopus can play that Piano.' Did I mention there's a piano in this bar? Well there is. It's a fairly high-class establishment. Anyway, the octopus goes over to the piano and plays it perfectly. Many of the regulars comment it's the most beautiful version of The Entertainer they have ever heard. The Bartender is very impressed so gives the man his drink. The man then takes off his rucksack - did I mention he's wearing a rucksack? Well he's wearing a rucksack - and takes out a violin - the same bargain is made, except this time with a violin obviously. The octopus is given the violin, and he plays it beautifully. Many of the regulars are reduced to tears at the beauty of the sad little song he plays. The bartender is now incredibly impressed, and so asks if the octopus plays any more instruments. The man says sure, gives his octopus a trumpet, the octopus plays as if he was leading a marching band. The man then says he is so confident in his octopus' ability that he's taking requests. The bartender - who's from Glasgow like I said - takes his prize possession from behind the bar - a set of bagpipes. They bagpipes are given to the octopus. He doesn't play them though. He crawls all over them, fiddles with the pipes, you know, all that shit, but he doesn't play the bagpipes. The man who brought him in, by now he's getting a little jumpy, he's pulling at his collar, sweating a little, you know. Well, he goes over to the octopus, who's still struggling with the bagpipes and says to him, 'What are you doing buddy?' The octopus turns to him and says 'I'm trying to work out how I can get the Pyjamas off this thing so I can give it a good fucking!' HAHAHAHAHA!"  
  
Jack nearly wet himself laughing. We quietly advised the man in front it was probably a good idea he laugh as well.  
  
You know, we can understand just why Jack was forced to turn to crime. That really is his idea of a good joke. We're not making this shit up people! We're also sorry to include it, taking up as it does a pretty vast space on the page, but we wanted to give you a good idea of what we have to put up with, and try and show you just how lonely we feel.  
  
Imagine it. You're a successful district attorney, OK, maybe a little obsessed with the job, but you're happily married, trying for a baby, that kinda thing. In a matter of seconds you're life is changed forever, doomed to an eternity of referring to yourself in the plural and using a fricking coin to decide whether or not you're going to get up today. Socially, your forced to hang out with some of the most vile scum Gotham has to offer or die of loneliness like a heroine in some eighteenth century poem. And we sure as hell ain't the fucking Lady of Shallot.  
  
Hopefully now you can appreciate just why it is that we love Selina so. She is a light in the darkness, our best friend, our rock if you will. Arguably the only other (some would drop the other of this statement) sane member of the rogues gallery. It was therefore with some trepidation that we realised we had come here tonight with the sole intention of arguing with her. Of telling her off even. And we knew from past experience just how badly she took these little chats.  
  
Gulping heavily, we settled back into our seat, ready for the second act.  
  
This one was crammed full of impressions. She had shared with us her penchant for impressions before, but never on this scale, and never in such a protracted burst before. If the audience had been laughing before, now they were totally overwhelmed with mirth. She had them completely wrapped around her little finger and she must have loved it. We had mixed feelings about it - arguably nothing new for us- especially as she broke into an impression we had never heard before - us.  
  
We aren't sure if it was satire or not, but she makes Harv sound like James Earl Jones, whereas Twoface sounds like he's been having a quick puff on a helium pump. It is a little OTT, it must be said, which makes us think that it was satire. Maybe she's trying to capture his whiny nature - who knows.  
  
He'll make us run into a wall later for writing this, but we just don't care.  
  
Half of us was totally incensed. It should be fairly obvious which half. Half of us found it vaguely amusing, even if she had blown our condition out of all proportion.  
  
Essentially, she did an impression of us arguing in which one of us had left the toilet seat up. Harv pointing out that we share the same body, Twoface getting annoyed and shrieking things about Harv's mother, only for Harv to exasperatedly point out that we share the same mother as well.  
  
Watching it, we argued amongst ourselves as to whether or not go and forcefully point out to Selina how wrong she was (with the emphasis on the point) when we realised 1) just what we were doing and 2) that it completely proved her point.  
  
Jack was in his element. If there was one thing he loved more than Saturday morning cartoons then it was the chance to mock his fellow rogues. At our request earlier he had thus far managed to stifle his giggles, but as Selina broke into a particularly Marilyn-eque Harley impression, he just couldn't help himself any more and dissolved into that trademark laughter of his.  
  
It's high pitched peal rang out around the Playhouse, turning a fair few heads. Leaning on our elbow, we covered our face with our hand, completely exasperated, peeking out through the gap in our fingers. We noticed out of the corner of our eye that Plastic Man fortunately had not moved, his visor remaining steadfastly focused on Miss Kyle.  
  
Who was looking straight at us. Feeling like a Grand Piano had just been dropped onto our stomach, we weakly waved. She grinned.  
  
Now, for those of you who have not had the pleasure of 'the grin', or 'the naughty grin' as Selina refers to it, let us assure you that its more than capable of stopping any red blooded man dead in his tracks from a good 50 yards away. It in itself is also more than worth the price of admission, so if Cat-Tails is still running when you reach this, and you are of the Y chromosome persuasion, then we strongly recommend you go and see the show.  
  
That grin usually means that she's going to do something ludicrously naughty or cheeky. We thought we had an idea, and covered our face even more.  
  
She broke into the most amazing Joker impressions we have ever heard. She captures his voice, mannerisms, and even his ridiculous insistence on jokes perfectly. It was like there was suddenly two Jokers in the Playhouse, which would have suited our needs but at the same time driven us to an early grave bearing in mind the trouble we were having with just one of them. One of them suddenly seemed less happy as well.  
  
Jack sat at our side, pouting like a five-year-old, muttering incoherently. We allowed ourselves a small chuckle at some of her wonderful impressions of him, and he glared at us with a look that the Medusa of mythology would have been proud of. Which made us chuckle even more naturally.  
  
He's not a big fan of the taste apparently.  
  
Of his own medicine that is. 


	7. Joke's On Them

The three of us stumbled rather than walked back to the foyer. We were all in a slight state of shock, as well as totally furious.  
  
As Selina had come back to the stage for her third bow - the crowd were simply determined to show their full appreciation, and didn't stop clapping for a good ten minutes - Twoface had interjected that we should really stop wolf whistling and remember just why it was that we came here tonight.  
  
"Look at her", he had stated simply. "Looks happy don't she? The last person we saw looking as happy as that had just had a lethal dose of Smilex. You know why she's so happy Harv? We do. She must be laughing all the way to the bank. Just imagine how much she's gonna make on this show. She's sold out us and our kind Harv! She's betrayed us for a few measly bucks! She is making a mockery of our entire world, and we are not at all happy about it! Now, you simpleton, what the hell are you gonna do about it?"  
  
We just managed to restrain him from shadow boxing as we walked, but we had got the message and were now psyched to the max.  
  
(Jeez, look at that last sentence! Dude! Cowabunga! Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles and all that jazz! Our English professor would be ashamed)  
  
Jack too was annoyed. His mood had grown darker and darker as the impressions continued. When Selina told the octopus joke, exactly as he had earlier, it was virtually the first thing that she had said all night that had not received either applause or rapturous laughter. It was one of those scenarios in which we could almost see the tumbleweed blowing up the aisle.  
  
Jack found himself in the all too humiliating position of being the only one laughing at his material. Embarrassed, and doing his best to hide it, he instead betrayed his intense frustration as he stood up and shouted, "Oh come on! Not even a sympathy laugh? I got young kids to feed! Poor little guys. . . so malnourished. . . so pale. . ."  
  
Not even a giggle. He threw himself down into his seat in a dead sulk, his mood completely eclipsed. Selina made a disparaging remark about him, grinning as only she can at us as she did, and the Playhouse rocked with laughter again.  
  
We were surprised therefore when we found him in the foyer grinning (until the corners of his mouth were "within an unimportant distance of his ears," thank you very fucking much Thomas Hardy) like a madman.  
  
Ironically.  
  
His hands were thrust deep into his pockets, and he turned his grin to us as we approached.  
  
"What the hell's up with you?" we asked bitterly, allowing Twoface to take over in our righteous rage.  
  
"Oh nothing." He said grinning still. "Just. . . thinking that's all."  
  
We snorted in a derisory manner. "We can almost hear the hamster running in his wheel." We snarled. "We're going to find Selina. Be here when we get back."  
  
"Sure thing Tutu." He said, grinning sweetly.  
  
We stopped (we had been walking away from him) but with a supreme effort (and the clenching of our fists) we managed to not rise to the bait.  
  
After inquiring with an official looking guy, (who complemented us on our costume - we almost laughed) we found our way to an old looking corridor and were about to advance down it when we found our way blocked by a sack of shit. In human form of course. It's not the sort of thing you expect to see in a Theatre really.  
  
Judging from his name badge, that he might of course have stolen, this one's name was Dick. How apt we thought as he forcefully ejected us from the area, despite our insistence we were a friend of Selina's.  
  
We are probably being a little harsh on Dick. We asked if he knew who we were and he replied that he thought he had seen us in the paper. . . after a moment's thought and prompting from us, he completely burst our ego balloon by asking if we were Tallyman. We were angered by this quite naturally (Tallyman indeed!! Hence our view of him has been somewhat marred), and after violently remonstrating we found ourselves on our ass out in the foyer.  
  
This did absolutely nothing for our state of mind of course. Our face as we returned to Jack could have probably curdled milk.  
  
"He's certainly earning his pay cheque." We muttered. "Hopefully he can move his Goddamn sister and their baby out of the Goddamn trailer park so that he isn't tempted every time he sees his Goddamn Uncle Jeremiah to do him up the Goddamn. . ."  
  
"Why the long faces Harv?" Jack broke into our thoughts with the subtlety of a steamroller. "We have something that will cheer you up. Come and look what Uncle Joker has in his pocket."  
  
We glared at him.  
  
"No not that! Come and look!"  
  
Reluctantly, we cautiously looked into his pocket. We were certain he had pulled a prank like this on the twice-accursed Ivy much to her distress.  
  
His pale white hand was clutching what looked a lot like a small plunger, the kind that we villains often use to set off bombs. We looked at him startled. He grinned, and pointed downwards. We followed his gaze. He had lifted his trench coat slightly. We remembered that he had kept it on during the performance, and now realised why.  
  
He had two small canisters strapped to his legs. We put the canisters and the plunger together mentally.  
  
Oh no.  
  
"Not laughing at my jokes are they?" he said, grinning wickedly, "I'll give 'em something to laugh about! HAHAHAHAHA!"  
  
Oh no.  
  
We tried to stop him, but before we could he had bounded onto a chair and was shouting to the assembled throng to be quiet.  
  
The room hushed, and turned to look at him.  
  
"Doctor doctor, I think I'm a spoon! Well lie there and don't stir."  
  
Someone laughed. We looked around. People were struggling not to grin.  
  
"My brother called his baby girl Exit. Apparently he wanted to see her name in lights."  
  
More laughter.  
  
"Where does the General keep his armies? Up his sleevies. Why did the boy take his pencil to bed? To draw the curtains. Who has the biggest boots in the U.S navy? The man with the biggest feet. Where does a six ton Gorilla sit in a theatre? Anywhere he wants. Have you read 'The Doubtful Author' by Ken. I. Wright? Why was Cinderella not very good at football? Her coach was a pumpkin and she kept running away from the ball! HAHAHAHAHA!"  
  
We warned you before about his sense of humour didn't we? See what we mean? It's like Carrot Top and Andy Kauffman's had an illicit love child. Not pleasant.  
  
Everyone around us was laughing hysterically. Jack saw us now, sticking out like a couple of sore thumbs. "Don't worry about my friend Harv." He said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "he's heard all my jokes before, and so has built up something of. . . an immunity to them."  
  
It's time for a bit of a history lesson.  
  
In our never ending quest to stave off loneliness, ourselves and Ivy (when we were seeing each other) ended up going on a camping trip to a nearby forest with Arkham's golden couple, The Joker and Harley Quinn.  
  
It was on this very trip that we had built up our tolerance to nitrous oxide that Jack alluded to, for it was this gas that was in the canisters. Jack had been releasing it steadily (as he would admit later) from the moment the audience had begun applauding and continued until we returned from our ill-fated attempt to see Selina, giving it time to circulate and explaining the phenomenon we saw in front of us now.  
  
To say the very least, the whole camping experience was a little surreal. Little did we know of course that Jack had concealed laughing gas distributors all around the camping area before ourselves and Ivy had got there. We found ourselves fighting the urge to burst into fits of laughter over and over. We are ashamed to say that we failed many times.  
  
Most undignified. The feared and respected gangster Twoface coming close to wetting himself to such a-grade material as 'why did the chicken cross the road'.  
  
Eventually however, we began to laugh less and less when we were unwittingly exposed. There came a time near the end when Jack thrust the nozzle of the canister in our faces and squeezed a long burst virtually straight down our throat, accompanied with a short fire burst of his best jokes. It was a struggle admittedly, but it didn't even raise a grin from us.  
  
Naturally, however, the average theatregoer has never endured such horrors (Jack's jokes we mean), and it is therefore not surprising to us that before long everyone in the foyer was rolling around on the floor, laughter shrieking from exhausted lungs.  
  
Although we don't approve of his methods (half of the time anyway), let it never be said that Twoface is not an opportunist. Stepping over bodies that were rocking uncontrollably on the plush carpet, we made our way towards the corridor that lead to the dressing rooms. Naturally we gave the security guard who had been rude to us earlier a swift kick in the midriff as we passed, but far from taking offence he seemed to find it all very funny. Opportunist yes. Vindictive also. A double-barrelled middle name of ours if ever there was one.  
  
"See you later Harv." Came a high voice from behind us. We turned around to see to see the clown prince standing in the middle of his devoted subjects, all of them in unstoppable humorous throes. "Tell the pussy cat we asked what's new."  
  
We never pictured Jack as a Tom Jones fan, we pondered as we stalked towards Selina's dressing room, feeling a lot like the phantom of the opera. But then again, we learn something new every day, especially in this city. 


	8. Conclusion

Author's Note: The part of Catwoman in this chapter is written by Chris Dee.  
  
Selina's door was fairly obvious, in that it had her name on it in large black type with a gold star over it.  
  
We moved to knock and alert her to our presence. . . but then we stopped.  
  
What exactly were we going to say to her? Up until then, we had pretty much let Angry Alan, or Twoface as he prefers to be known, handle the details. But we wanted to know just what we were annoyed about before we alienated our best friend.  
  
He pointed it out to us in his usual blunt way.  
  
One. Remember that time Mad Hatter tried to insinuate that Batman and Catwoman were "together"? Remember how long it took us to scrub the blood off the carpet? We all know that mentioning her and Batman in the same sentence, other than to vehemently deny their relationship, is total suicide. And yet here she is not only openly discussing it, but encouraging complete strangers to LAUGH at it! The audacious hypocrisy of that woman has the under side of our half of the collar a little hot even if yours isn't.  
  
Three. Did you forget to put your contacts in on that side? Did you or did you not see that ludicrous impression of us? The whole room was rocking with laughter at us Harv! Doesn't that make you angry? Acute dual personality syndrome with potential sociopathic rage and homicidal tendencies is nothing to be laughed at. Which reminds us - when we get home put Jim Carrey on the pistol whip list. Yes Harv, we have a pistol whip list.  
  
And most importantly, two, the woman is a sell out!  
  
That did it. We knocked twice on the door of her dressing room more than ready to give her a piece of our mind.  
  
The door opened. We raised a hand in a scolding motion, nagging teacher mode perfected whilst we were a lecturer at Harvard, and opened our mouth to begin the tirade. The hand was suddenly crushed against our side by a vision in purple whom had flung her arms around us for a hug.  
  
"HARVEY! You came you big ol' dear!"  
  
Catwoman. She stepped back, and beamed at us, genuinely pleased to see us. We began to feel a little bad about the purpose of our visit. We realised it would be prudent to get it over and done with, so we attempted to begin the lecture.  
  
"Quite the colorful collection tonight, I assume Jack came with you, thanks so much, that cackle nearly broke my rhythm."  
  
She hadn't stopped smiling since we had come to the door. The words were gushing out like a bubbling brook, obviously still feeling the rush of the performance. She would later compare this rush as very similar to the one she receives after a particularly successful theft. We smiled apologetically, ready to tell her that we had done everything in our power not to bring Jack this evening and that our ear drums had very nearly gone the same way as her rhythm.  
  
We didn't get a chance.  
  
"I take it he liked my Harley. . . gonna regret THAT one one of these days, I'm sure but what a crowd tonight! Wasn't it wild?"  
  
Wild? Selina, using the adjective 'wild'? She must be pumped up, we thought ruefully.  
  
We really are a grammar snob aren't we?  
  
We looked at the woman we thought of as our kid sister, enjoying her company. In our mind, we could hear Twoface bawling at Harv about his sudden lack of vertebrae. Harv countered with the fact that the impression hadn't been that bad. . . but her hypocrisy and her new status as sell out still burned us deeply.  
  
Furrowing our brow we tried to speak of our concerns.  
  
"Gordon, can you believe it Harv? You came on THE night that he was here. Jesus, not only did he come he plopped himself right down in the front row, can you believe it? No wonder he got shot, that shows all the strategic brilliance of. . . well let's not go there. And just think, he pulled his little blunder on the night you and Jack were here, poor ass. Oh well, he's not really the target after all. It's that bitch at the Post."  
  
We were beginning to wonder if she had found some new fangled method of breathing, because she certainly hadn't stopped for breath during the time that we had been talking to her. In many respects, it was really very endearing. Here she was, babbling away like a schoolgirl, beaming all the while. . . it really did warm the colder recesses of our heart.  
  
Besides, maybe the show was a method of therapy for her? By discussing her bizarre relationship with mean and moody perhaps she could make some sense of it all? After all, if she could bring herself to talk to strangers then maybe, just maybe, she might not go for the jugular (literally) when the inevitable was brought up at Rogue socials and maybe, just maybe, we won't need to spend so much time in the future on our knees with rubber gloves and an apron on, scrubbing away at blood stained carpet.  
  
We frowned. Selina had still sold her story - correction, our story, and that was an unforgiveable betrayal.  
  
"I'm sorry to do this to you Harv, but would you mind being a dear and turning around for a second so as I can change into something more comfortable?" The naughty grin.  
  
We feel we must now discuss the house of cards analogy. We are, or at least half of the time are, a perfect gentleman. However, it is the last syllable that we want to focus on. We are a man.  
  
For this reason, when it comes to women, we are completely and utterly hopeless, as most men are around such a beautiful creature as Selina.  
  
Monosyllabacy doesn't appear to be a word according to our spell checker, but it should be as that is exactly what happens.  
  
Essentially what the unfortunate female tends to witness is the devolution of man right back to prehistoric urges to say 'Ug' repeatedly whilst staring at the poor thing's cleavage. The reason we call it a house of cards is that once the process is started there's no going back - we completely crumble before their very eyes.  
  
OK, so we (well half of us) have managed to convince ourselves that Selina is a sister, nothing more or less, but she still has a certain amount of power over us.  
  
Picture the scene.  
  
Catwoman has just asked you to turn around whilst she gets changed. What do you do? Addendum. Catwoman has asked you to do ANYTHING whilst she gets changed behind you - what do you do?  
  
We turned around, uncomfortably shuffling to face the wall. Harv was pondering his own stunning capitulation as regards to telling Selina off. Twoface was a little more concerned with the stirring in our groin, and was mentally replaying every single one of Billy Bonds' homers in a desperate attempt to tame it.  
  
"OK Harv, you can look now." They say that you can hear whether or not a person is smiling when they speak. Well, we're willing to bet both our bottom dollars that Selina was fixing the back of our head with the naughty grin as she said that.  
  
She was looking at the ceiling innocently when we turned around again however. She was now dressed in a Cat-Tails sweatshirt, jeans and pumps. Despite her extremely casual appearance she was still stunningly beautiful.  
  
"Oh and Harvey, Look at this lovely bouquet. Aren't they beautiful? Young Justice sent it. Ironic really. The JLA didn't sign theirs, even though it was blatantly obvious from the comments whom it was from. The kids have more intestinal fortitude than the adults - 'course they've been saying that for years haven't they. Well, I've been going on and on at you Harv, and you've been such a darling to listen so patiently. What can I do for you then?"  
  
"Hmm? OH! Right, sorry. We were a million miles away."  
  
We paused. Now was the time. We finally had a chance to tell her how we felt, a soap box on which to state our case.  
  
We didn't even need to flip that infernal coin this time.  
  
"We just wanted to tell you that we loved the show. It's a real triumph and you should be very proud of yourself. We haven't laughed so much in years."  
  
A sudden recollection flashed through our mind. Jack!  
  
"Selina, it was great to see you again my dear, but we are going to have to run." We said apologetically. "We think we left something in the oven, and it will burn if we don't go get it out of there. . .You really must try and come out with the rest of us when we go bowling next week." All three of us knew she wouldn't, but it was worth a try. We really are persistent to the end. "Oh well. You have shows the rest of this week don't you? Well, break a leg as you thespian types say!"  
  
"Nice chatting to you again Harv. See you soon."  
  
She smiled at us.  
  
I, Harvey Dent, smiled back.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Fin.  
  
  
  
Twofaced Tales will return in 'High Heels and Low Lifes'. Far from being a Minnie Driver film, this story will explore the bizarre facets of Twoface and Harvey Dent's love life or lack thereof! Stay two-ned!  
  
(Yes it's a bad pun, but I like it so nur!)  
  
I thank each and every one of you for reading. You lot really are the reason I wake up in the morning. Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to comment on my work - I hope that you have all enjoyed reading Twofaced Tales as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
  
I'd like to thank Chris Dee, (http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=22266) who is my friend, my inspiration and my co-writer for this particular chapter. Who else could write Selina as well as she? You rock Chris - don't even try and deny it. Hecate, you also rock for all of the help you gave me whilst writing the last chapter. Thanks again.  
  
I would like to thank MyklarCure, (http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=158746) who has also been a huge influence - and donated Plastic Man to me for a surprisingly small fee. =)  
  
And last but by no means least, thanks to all the folks over at Gotham PM as well as my friend Pandora.  
  
What do you mean I didn't get the Grammy?  
  
Come and hang with myself, Chris, and Myklar at the official Cat-Tails message board by following this link; http://pub101.ezboard.com/fgothampmfrm26 All are welcome! See you there! 


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